(Apparently I lost it a few posts ago and didn't notice. Sorry! Yeah, definitely call me on anything like that.)

You are standing in a subterranean caver with several tunnels in front of you and one behind you. On the far right, an incredibly intricate picture has been carved into the wall, illustrating a huge tree connecting two different plains. Beneath the picture, someone has crudely carved the words, "FARMMR COMS."

The smell of manure comes from every direction, and chittering is audible from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts. The warmth in your right arm pulses evenly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut.

This tunnel seems to wind more than the previous pathways you've taken. The floor slopes more obviously as well. Within half an hour, you are basically walking downhill. As you continue walking, the floor becomes tacky beneath your shoes.

The tunnel opens up into an underground lake, stretching as far as your flashlight can illuminate. Instead of water, the lake appears made of, or at least covered with, the omnipresent black substance. The lake occasionally ripples in a strange way, almost in reverse.

Your stomach flares in sickly pain and you fall to your knees and vomit. As your left hand touches the floor, the tacky stone burns your unprotected skin.

You stand before a vast lake of black goo. Your stomach continues to heave in your gut, and the warmth in your arm and chest has risen to the level of pain. The middle of the lake seems to heave in response, bulging into the air.

You throw the flaming cup of ooze into the black lake. The cup plops beneath the surface, and for a moment nothing happens. Then you see a flame sprout from the lake, a flame which is quickly spreading.

You click the tunnel behind you.

You turn and run back up the tunnel. Behind you, you hear the lake roaring in flame, a sound only matched by the chittering and scratching sounds which envelop you as hundreds of shadow-things burst forth from the walls of the tunnel around you. They run beside you, screeching as they scramble against the tunnel.

The air turns hot as you struggle up the steep tunnel. Terrible gusts of searing wind sweep past you, blistering your skin. The floor is tackier than it was on the way down, definitely sticky now. The tunnels blister and crack themselves, shedding their thin layer of outer stone as the tar beneath catches fire. You continue to run as fast as you can, but soon the walls themselves are burning around you. The shadow-things die by the score, sizzling and smoking, then falling to the floor. Some of the corpses sink down into the stone, others do not.

In the distance, you hear great booming sounds which shake the tunnels about you. You catch yourself several times, but eventually a quake tears through you that knocks you to the tunnel floor. Then the ground itself catches, and you find yourself mired in flaming tar.

You are standing in a subterranean cavern with several tunnels in front of you and one behind you. On the far right, an incredibly intricate picture has been carved into the wall, illustrating a huge tree connecting two different plains. Beneath the picture, someone has crudely carved the words, "FARMMR COMS."

The smell of manure comes from every direction, and chittering is audible from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts. The warmth in your right arm pulses evenly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut.

(Updates will be extremely slow for the next week or so. I'm going to NC again, but this time it's for vacation and Christmas! I'll have my netbook, so I will probably update once in awhile, but don't think I've forgotten about it.)

Nicely done TVJ. You really do have a thing for fire. It kind of scares me. Here, my only real plan for the cup of ooze was to use it as a lantern when the batteries in the flashlight die. You, on the other hand see it as a device with which to lay waste to the world. I just don't think big enough...

Thx Shad. Enjoy your Christmas break. I'll be out of town and then out of country from the 23rd to the 2nd. So if you don't see me at all, don't think it's because I've lost interest either.

You enter the tunnel. For at least a mile, the tunnel curves constantly, and you are never able to see more than thirty or forty yards ahead of you. After awhile, the tunnel straightens out. It continues this direction for longer than you can measure.

Though your stomach hurts, you have a seemingly unlimited amount of energy, and never feel the need to rest or to even slow down.

Eventually you see a light at the end of the tunnel. It stands out wildly, compared to the blackness of the rest of your surroundings. Another half hour of walking and you finally exit the tunnel.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, with a large metal lock prominently visible at the middle of it. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. Several plant-like tendrils, gray and brown, have grown out of the soil and climb the door; they seem to disappear into the sides of the lock.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts. The warmth in your right arm pulses evenly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut.

The lock is solid, made of cold metal. A large keyhole sits in the middle of it, and seems to be full of vegetable matter. You see no obvious way to turn the lock.

You click the door.

The door refuses to open, being bound by the lock.

You click the soil.

The soil is dry and sandy to the touch, with only the slightest bit of loaminess that differenciates it from simple dirt. As you dig around in the soil with your hand, you touch the roots of the plant tendrils growing out of it.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, with a large metal lock prominently visible at the middle of it. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. Several plant-like tendrils, gray and brown, have grown out of the soil and climb the door; they seem to disappear into the sides of the lock.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts. The warmth in your right arm pulses evenly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut.

Grabbing hold of the tendrils, you try to pull them out of the lock. They are stuck fast. Giving a mighty pull, you manage to tear one of the smaller tendrils in half. The other half quickly shrivels, then seems to dissolve into something much like the black tar of the caves, though less viscous. A small amount of the black liquid leaks from the side of the lock.

The other tendrils are too strong for you to tear.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, with a large metal lock prominently visible at the middle of it. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. Several plant-like tendrils, gray and brown, have grown out of the soil and climb the door; they seem to disappear into the sides of the lock. Black liquid stains the wall where one of the tendrils dissolved.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts. The warmth in your right arm pulses evenly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut.

You reach out and touch the black liquid where it pools on the floor, at the bottom of the door. Your skin becomes extremely hot where the liquid touches it, but quickly goes cold as the liquid flows towards and into your hand. A sense of extreme heat, followed immediately by a numbing coolness, courses up your left arm.

Your stomach cramps painfully and you fall to your hands and knees, vomiting a thick, black tarry substance that smells intensely of manure. As you hack and cough, the seed tumbles out of your shirt pocket and lands in the tarry sludge before you.

Culvitation: 2/5 complete! Seed found! Seed fertilized!

Eventually you are able to push yourself back up.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, with a large metal lock prominently visible at the middle of it. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. Several plant-like tendrils, gray and brown, have grown out of the soil and climb the door; they seem to disappear into the sides of the lock.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts badly, occasionalyl cramping. The warmth in your right arm pulses hotly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut.

A seed sits on the ground before you, covered in black sludge. The seed is wiggling slightly in the sludge.

You pick the wriggling seed up and put it back in your pocket. The seed is noticably warmer than it was, earlier.

You use the cup of ooze on the lock.

You liberally apply the tarry ooze to the lock. As you pour the substance onto the lock, a great deal of it runs out onto the tendrils around the lock.

You use the cigarette lighter on the lock.

The ooze immediately begins to burn, and as several moments pass, the flames get hotter and hotter. The plant-like tendrils catch fire quickly and burn into ash as the flames tear through them. After a few minutes, the flames die down. The lock is now free of any tendrils. Smoke lazily seeps from the keyhole, and from the holes where the tendrils formerly penetrated the mechanism.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, with a large metal lock prominently visible at the middle of it. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. The burnt remains of several plants lie on the ground in front of the door.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts badly, occasionally cramping. The warmth in your right arm pulses hotly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut. A pool of sludge is on the ground in front of you, and smells badly of manure.

You grab the lock and pull on it. The face of the lock cracks and breaks away from the rest of the mechanism. The inner workings of the lock are broken and mangled, and are easily removed from the casing.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, its lock shattered and broken. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. The burnt remains of several plants lie on the ground in front of the door.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts badly, occasionally cramping. The warmth in your right arm pulses hotly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut. A pool of sludge is on the ground in front of you, and smells badly of manure.

You reach up and touch the hanging bulb, which is slightly warm. The light inside flickers as the bulb swings slightly on its wire. The connections must not be that good, but you wouldn't have expected any sort of electricity this deep into a cave, anyway.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, its lock shattered and broken. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. The burnt remains of several plants lie on the ground in front of the door.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts badly, occasionally cramping. The warmth in your right arm pulses hotly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut. A pool of sludge is on the ground in front of you, and smells badly of manure.

The soil is dry and sandy to the touch, with only the slightest bit of loaminess that differenciates it from simple dirt. As you dig around in the soil with your hand, you touch the roots of the plant tendrils growing out of it. The burnt remains of the plants above the ground crumble further as you move them.

You are standing in a small room. The back half of the room, opening into the tunnel, is rough hewn stone. The front half, however, is finely made, and smooth looking. Across from the tunnel, a metal door stands shut, its lock shattered and broken. Before the door, a trough has been carved into the ground and filled with soil. The burnt remains of several plants lie on the ground in front of the door.

There is a single, brown-stained lightbulb hanging from a wire coming from an open socket in the stone ceiling.

The smell of manure wafts out from the tunnel behind you. Your stomach hurts badly, occasionally cramping. The warmth in your right arm pulses hotly, spreading farther into your chest and down into your gut. A pool of sludge is on the ground in front of you, and smells badly of manure.

You are standing in a vast field. The field stands full of wheat, chest-high, though it is a light, mottled gray instead of the usual golden tan. Overhead, a pale blue sun takes up nearly a third of the sky, but the air is cool, almost cold, and absolutely still. Behind you stands a small wooden shack with an open metal door. In the far distance, you see a building.

Different areas of the gray wheat occasionally shiver.

Your stomach no longer hurts, and the warmth in your right arm settles into a constant, comfortable heat that spreads nicely through your core.

The scars on your body are noticably larger than they were before, and their texture has roughened further. The scars are numb to the touch, except at the center, where short, bristly fibers begun to grow. Your right arm has begun to take on a brown, wooden color up to as far as your bicep. Touching the end of the spear, you note that you can feel through the spear as well as you can your fingers. A pleasing warmth flows from your right arm into your body.

You are standing in a vast field. The field stands full of wheat, chest-high, though it is a light, mottled gray instead of the usual golden tan. Overhead, a pale blue sun takes up nearly a third of the sky, but the air is cool, almost cold, and absolutely still. Behind you stands a small wooden shack with an open metal door. In the far distance, you see a building.

The wheat occasionally twitches spasmodically, and at random places in the field. You can see no animals moving within the tall grain, however, even when the wheat directly next to you moves. It jerks back quickly as you touch it, and surprisingly sharp barbs in the stem cut your hand. Your blood drips on the ground, a dark blackish color with only the slightest hint of red.

You are standing in a vast field. The field stands full of wheat, chest-high, though it is a light, mottled gray instead of the usual golden tan. Overhead, a pale blue sun takes up nearly a third of the sky, but the air is cool, almost cold, and absolutely still. Behind you stands a small wooden shack with an open metal door. In the far distance, you see a building. Your blood lightly spatters the ground in front of you.

You walk towards the house, weaving your way through the bristled stalks of gray wheat.

You are standing next to a small, old house. The house is in degraded and in ruins. The paint is rotten and peeling, and the brick chimney has cracked and fallen. One wall has crumbled outwards, splaying pieces of wood and pipe onto the ground. In the ruins of the house, you can make out a rusted, broken old-style television. Directly across from the broken wall sits the blackened, burned remains of a kitchen. Behind the busted television, a door hangs off a single hinge. In the distance, behind you, you see a small wooden shack.

Your body is covered with scars, which have roughened and have begun to grow short, bristly fibers. Your right arm has the color and texture of wood, and extends to end in a sharpened wooden spear. Though made of wood, you have full sensation in the spear. Your hand is cut slightly, and a small amount of black blood has dried on the cut.

You click the wall of the house.

The wall is broken and crumbled. Many of the bricks are broken, and here and there you see what looks to be large claw marks shorn entirely through the brick. Snapped pipes and wires lie in the rubble.

You click the door behind the television.

The door is shaky when you touch it, and when you swing it open it falls to the floor with a clatter. Behind the door there is a bathroom. The walls are covered in tile that has been stained by a blackish green growth. The sink and tub are covered with the same lichenous mold. In the floor there is a large hole, surrounded by shattered tile, which upon cursory observation looks to go deep into the ground.

You click the kitchen.

The kitchen has obviously been burned, and the fire seems to have been worst at the oven. The wallpaper is mostly gone, though a few sections of faded, yellow sunflowers remain. There are a couple cabinets which seem to have been spared from the fire.

You click the television.

The television's screen is busted out, and one of the legs is broken, so that the TV lies crookedly on the floor. Lying just inside the broken TV there is a gun.

You are standing next to a small, old house. The house is in degraded and in ruins. The paint is rotten and peeling, and the brick chimney has cracked and fallen. One wall has crumbled outwards, splaying pieces of wood and pipe onto the ground. In the ruins of the house, you can make out a rusted, broken old-style television. Directly across from the broken wall sits the blackened, burned remains of a kitchen. Behind the busted television there is a bathroom, its door having broken off its hinges. In the distance, behind you, you see a small wooden shack.

You gingerly remove the gun from the pieces of broken glass in the television. You still get a nick or two, but nothing serious.

You are standing next to a small, old house. The house is in degraded and in ruins. The paint is rotten and peeling, and the brick chimney has cracked and fallen. One wall has crumbled outwards, splaying pieces of wood and pipe onto the ground. In the ruins of the house, you can make out a rusted, broken old-style television. Directly across from the broken wall sits the blackened, burned remains of a kitchen. Behind the busted television there is a bathroom, its door having broken off its hinges. In the distance, behind you, you see a small wooden shack.

The cabinets open easily, and a whiff of stale, rotten air hits you in the face as you look inside. You find a can of tomatoes, bloated and buldging, and a can of sardines in oil with a faded label.

You click the oven.

Inside the open are the charred, ashed remains of whatever had once been cooking. The dials on the oven are still set on; the oven must have remained operational until the fire damaged it to the point where it couldn't.

You click the broken pipe.

You pick up a piece of broken pipe.

New inventory item: Metal pipe!

You click the wires.

You pull several of the wires out of the wall.

New inventory item: Wires!

You click the mold.

The mold is slick and greasy under your fingers. Some of the green filth comes off onto your skin, and you wipe it off onto your shadowskin pants, which absorbs the substance easily.

You use the flashlight on the hole in the bathroom floor.

Looking down the hole, you see that it leads to a tunnel. Small shadow-things skitter out of the light of your flashlight. One side of the tunnel glows very slightly with a pale, flickering blue light. On the side of the hole, you see clawed handprints, as if someone had grappled at the floor before finally slipping down the hole.

You are standing in the bathroom of an old, small house. The walls are covered in tile, stained by a blackish, green growth. The sink and tub are covered with the same lichenous mold. A hook on the wall meant for hanging a towel or bathrobe stands empty, and an empty toothbrush holder lies broken on the floor.

A: Click the hole in the bathroom floor.
B: Click the mold.
C: Click the oven.
D: Click the cabinets.
E: Click the bulging can of tomatoes.
F: Click the can of sardines.
G: Click yourself.
H: Click the small wooden shack.

(Sorry for the delay lately. I've been doing this mostly at work, and work has been stupidly busy for the last week or so.)

You click the bulging can of tomatoes.

New inventory item: Bulging can of tomatoes!

You click the can of sardines.

New inventory item: Can of sardines in oil!

You click the small wooden shack.

You walk across the field, doing your best to avoid the sharp-bristled stalks of gray wheat which dominate the land. As you walk, you notice that the wheat wilts slightly and even breaks when your spear-arm comes into contact with it. When you near the shack, the slight smell of manure wafts from the open door.

You use the wires on the oven.

Turning around, you run back to the house as fast as you can, wires in hand. The wheat tears at you as you pass, but you ignore the discomfort. When you get to the house, you immediately run to the kitchen and begin inserting wires into the oven. Nothing appears to happen; it looks as if the oven is far too damaged to repair with only wires.

You are standing in the kitchen of an old, small house. It has been burned badly, with most of the damage centering around an oven which now has a mess of wires sticking out of it in nearly random places. The wallpaper is mostly gone, though a few sections of faded, yellow sunflowers remain. There are a couple cabinets which seem to have been spared the fire, now standing open and empty.

Looking down the hole, you see that it leads to a tunnel. Small shadow-things skitter out of the light of your flashlight. One side of the tunnel glows very slightly with a pale, flickering blue light. On the side of the hole, you see clawed handprints, as if someone had grappled at the floor before finally slipping down the hole.

You are standing in the bathroom of an old, small house. The walls are covered in tile, stained by a blackish, green growth. The sink and tub are covered with the same lichenous mold. A hook on the wall meant for hanging a towel or bathrobe stands empty, and an empty toothbrush holder lies broken on the floor.